Chapter Three: Letting the Tiger Return to the Mountain (IV)

IV. A Fright without Danger

No longer lingering outside, Xiangbao went straight to the bedchamber. Zheng Dan was already seated inside; when she saw Xiangbao enter, she was momentarily taken aback, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but she quickly turned her head away, sitting silently in the corner, ignoring Xiangbao.

By the couch, the bronze brazier still glowed with burning coals. Xiangbao looked toward Fuchai, lying on the couch. His complexion seemed even more ashen, the white undergarment making his pallor more pronounced, even his usually flamboyant hair now obediently spread across the pillow.

She stood beside him for a long while, then reached out to fetch the long robe from the rack by the bed. Fingering the bright yellow robe, Xiangbao found herself momentarily lost in thought. In the past, she had loathed his arrogance and domineering ways, grinding her teeth in resentment, often rendered speechless with anger. Yet now, for some unfathomable reason, she found herself missing that brash demeanor. She disliked this current, docile, harmless appearance of his.

“My lady, your wound, do you want…” Ziru’s voice was quiet as she reminded her.

Xiangbao looked down at her disheveled state and shook her head.

“If the king wakes to see you like this, he’ll surely be upset,” Ziru urged again.

After a moment’s thought, Xiangbao followed Ziru into the adjoining room to change her clothes; when she emerged, Zheng Dan was gone.

“Ziru, what time is it?”

“It’s the hour of the Dragon,” Ziru replied.

Xiangbao made no sound; she simply sat by the couch, propping her chin with one hand, lost in thought as she gazed at the sleeping Fuchai. If Goujian had not changed his mind, if Fuchai were to die like this… Just the thought made a dull ache begin spreading in her chest, growing until it was impossible to suppress.

“What time is it now?” After sitting silently for a long while, Xiangbao asked again.

“It’s midday,” Ziru replied.

Unwittingly, noon had arrived. Goujian had yet to appear…

Xiangbao gazed fixedly at the man on the couch, unable to stop herself from slowly reaching out her left hand—pain flared as her injured shoulder was pulled. She gently touched the hand he rested by his side. Though the brazier burned nearby, his hand was still so cold—cold enough to seem lifeless. Her heart gave a sudden jolt; she instinctively tried to draw her hand away.

But that cold, weak hand moved slightly, covering the back of hers. Feeling that faint, almost undetectable warmth in his palm, Xiangbao felt herself calm down.

His narrow eyes slowly opened, settling on Xiangbao. She couldn't bring herself to look away, so she simply met his gaze.

“You’ve been crying.” He smiled, but the expression on his pale, cold face seemed utterly out of place.

Lowering her eyelids, Xiangbao raised her free right hand to wipe her eyes. Sure enough, they were damp. She curled her lips in a pout, her eyes still sore and dry, muttering, “Does it make you so happy to see me cry?”

He barely managed a smile and was about to speak when a sudden fit of coughing overtook him, dark blood spilling from his pale lips, a shocking sight.

Her heart clenched. Flustered, Xiangbao rushed to support him. “Ziru, bring water—quickly!”

Taking the water Ziru handed over, Xiangbao gently wiped the black blood from his lips and brought the cup to his mouth. Fuchai looked at her with a mysterious, unreadable gaze, then rinsed his mouth with the water from her hand, uncharacteristically obedient.

It was only after a while that Xiangbao belatedly realized he was leaning openly against her, looking weak and frail, shamelessly taking advantage of her. The corner of her mouth twitched. Was this not the proverbial “death under a peony—better as a ghost, but still a rogue”?

The sun sank little by little, and with it, so did Xiangbao’s heart. As dusk deepened, Goujian still did not appear. She glanced down at Fuchai; he was still nestled in her embrace, his long, narrow eyes unblinking upon her. With his tall frame resting in Xiangbao’s rather petite arms, the scene could not have been more strange.

“What are you looking at me for? Go back to sleep,” Xiangbao murmured softly.

“And if I fall asleep and never wake up?” He gazed at her, struggling to lift a hand and gently caress her cheek. “Besides… I just want to look at you a little longer…”

Even knowing he was being deliberately sentimental, Xiangbao’s eyes still grew blurred. Pain and panic churned inside her, leaving her at a loss. She gritted her teeth, slapped his hand away, and stood up. “You’re so pleased to see me miserable, aren’t you? I admit it, I’m finished—does that make you proud? If you die, I’ll cry, I’ll hurt—is that what you want?!”

Her mind went blank. She shouted, her emotions spiraling out of control, nearly collapsing.

Fuchai was briefly startled, then managed a faint smile. “Yes, I am proud.”

Xiangbao froze, biting her pale lips. She stood awkwardly for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room. What was she even saying? Standing by the door, Xiangbao lifted her right hand, dazedly touching her face, her mind a void.

“My lady?” Ziru followed, concern in her voice.

Xiangbao didn’t answer, only looked up at the sky outside. “What time is it?”

“It’s the hour of the Monkey,” Ziru replied.

Xiangbao bit her lip gently. It was already so late, and still Goujian had not come…

Zheng Dan had been standing in the corridor outside, holding a lock of black hair, lost in thought. Only when the sun began to set did she suddenly come to herself and quickl